feel the walls

caving

even as daffodils

open their bright sunny faces

in my direction

Guess I've been wrangling with a bit of depression these days.  It becomes more evident when I'm not even stirred deep inside by things like daffodils blooming and birds making nests.  It's as if nothing stirs me, thus my dry spell in writing.  Feels like everything is swirling around me and I have no real tether on anything!  Very frustrating and hopeless.  Keep wondering how did I get here and what can I do to get out, or at least point my old self in the direction of survival. Wow, how many times have I had to push back walls?  Guess I'll find a way. Mean time, it may be my only material for writing.